neighbourhoodspidey - Tumblr blog

neighbourhoodspidey · 2 days ago

Text

damn.

Eternity

Summary: Wanda wakes up in a strange hall filled with hundreds of souls choosing where to spend eternity. Lost and disoriented, she finds comfort when she’s reunited with Y/N, the woman she spent her whole life with. But just as things begin to make sense, a voice from her past shatters everything—Vision, her first love, is here too. Caught between the life she built and the love she lost, Wanda is faced with a choice that could define forever.

A/N: This is my first time getting back into writing in years so be kind to me. I honestly thought the votes were going to be for Reader to be the first love who died early so I had to quickly rewrite this chapter and don't really know where i'm going from here but I guess that depends on the feedback.

Chapter One – The Junction

The first thing Wanda felt was the sound. A low murmur of voices, footsteps echoing, the faint hush of hundreds of people moving around her. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of an enormous room.

It stretched farther than she could see, its ceiling arched high above like the nave of a cathedral. Light poured down from nowhere and everywhere, bathing the hall in a pale glow. All around her, people drifted in every direction, some alone, some in pairs, studying doorways and archways that lined the walls.

Each doorway seemed to shimmer with something different. One glowed with the warm flicker of candlelight and the sound of laughter spilling out. Another pulsed with the scent of saltwater and the distant cry of gulls. A third flickered with images that changed every time Wanda blinked: a forest in autumn, a bustling city street, a quiet farmhouse kitchen.

It was like each door led somewhere else, somewhere personal, a place shaped by the people standing nearby. Wanda felt a tug, a strange pull toward those shimmering thresholds, but she didn’t move.

She turned slowly, trying to soak it all in, to find some clue. The crowd was large but calm, their quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a soft cloak. She caught snippets of words, “peace,” “choice,” “home”, but nothing she could hold on to.

A cool breeze brushed past, carrying a whisper that felt like a half-forgotten memory. She looked down and finally noticed what she was wearing. A simple hospital gown, light and clean, fluttering slightly as if touched by a gentle wind.

Her hand moved to her skin, and she was amazed by how smooth and soft it felt. No wrinkles. No stiffness. Her joints moved easily, without pain, something she hadn’t felt in years. Her last memory was quickly fading, like a dream dissolving the moment you wake. The faces of her kids and grandkids, the feeling of their hands in hers, the sounds of tears and quiet goodbyes.

Now she was here, in a place that felt like peace and nothing wrapped into one.

“Wanda.”

Her name, spoken softly, cut through the noise. She froze.

When she turned, she saw you.

You stood a few feet away, your eyes wide with relief, your lips trembling in a smile that was halfway to tears. The sight of you hit her like a wave, and Wanda’s breath left her in a shudder. She had lived an entire life with you—grown old, started a family, shared memories and arguments and anniversaries. To see you now, whole and radiant again, was almost too much to bear.

She stumbled forward, almost afraid that if she moved too fast, you’d disappear. When your hands reached out and found hers, a shiver ran through her knees. “Y/N,” she whispered, voice fragile and breaking, “you’re here.”

You pulled her close, wrapping your arms around her like you were holding the whole world together. Wanda melted into the warmth of you, the smell, the feel, the undeniable familiarity that somehow made this strange place a little less frightening.

“I was so scared it would take longer,” you murmured, your voice trembling just enough to show how much you’d worried. “I didn’t know when you’d come.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you in the midst of the crowded hall, holding onto each other like the rest of the world had disappeared. Wanda breathed you in, the familiar scent that surrounded her for over 60 years felt grounding in such an unfamiliar place.

“Where are we?” Wanda asked, blinking at you as she took in your features, untouched by age. The lines that life had written on your face were gone, but your smile had always stayed the same. “The last thing I remember was being in a room with the twins…and you–”

“I think I’ve only been here a few months,” you admitted softly, though time was hard to measure in this place. You saw the panic beginning to flicker in Wanda’s eyes, the way her breathing grew uneven, and you hurried to steady her before she could spiral the way you once had.

“We’re… dead?” she asked suddenly, the words sharp and fragile, cutting through the explanation you had been preparing.

Your lips curved into a sad smile. “You caught on faster than I did,” you murmured. “It took me days to even say the word out loud.”

Wanda’s fingers tightened against yours, her voice quieter now, almost childlike. “So what happens now?” She leaned closer, her body pressed to yours as though space itself felt dangerous.

You brushed your thumb across her hand, grounding her. “Now we choose,” you said. “They told me we have to really think about it, because wherever we go… that’s where we’ll be. Forever.”

Her eyes flicked around the vast room, wide with possibility and fear. Then she looked back at you, hope and doubt tangled in her gaze.

“We have all the time,” you added gently.

Just as you both were beginning to look around at all of the possible options, a voice from behind.

“Wanda.”

The sound of it was both familiar and foreign, a name carried on a tone Wanda hadn’t heard in decades. Slowly, she turned.

He stood only a short distance away.

He looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him—young, vibrant, blue eyes bright with a kind of intensity that had once made her heart race. Time had not touched him here, and seeing him was like falling backward into another life.

“Vision,” Wanda breathed. The name left her lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

Her breath caught in her throat. Vision had been her first love, the boy who had made her believe in forever before forever was taken from them. She had carried him with her for years, tucked into the quiet places of her heart, even as life had gone on.

A slow, aching smile touched his face. “It’s really you,” he whispered, stepping closer, though he stopped just shy of reaching for her. His eyes flickered to your hand clasped tightly in hers, and a shadow passed through them before he forced the smile back into place.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. His voice was quiet, but the weight of decades pressed against every syllable.

Wanda’s fingers tightened reflexively around your hand. She didn’t let go, but guilt burned hot in her chest all the same.

For a moment, she was twenty again. She was standing under a rain‑slick streetlight, laughing breathlessly as he kissed her for the first time. She was sneaking out of her parents’ house to meet him at the edge of town. She was holding his hand and dreaming of a future that never came.

Confusion swirled in her chest. The vast room, the endless doorways, the hundreds of people moving calmly from one section to another—it all felt too big, too strange to make sense of.

Your hand squeezed hers, grounding her as it always had.

The words seemed to echo in the vaulted hall, louder than the murmur of the crowd. Wanda’s heart stuttered, caught between the two pairs of eyes watching her—the woman she had built her life with, and the first love who had waited decades for her return.

And in that moment, she realized the cruelest truth: eternity was long, but not long enough to love them both.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #spideyrecs

432 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 3 days ago

Text

"and let the darkness set us free"

18 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 3 days ago

Text

minors and ageless blogs dni.

if there are boundaries, knock them down

summary: you won’t let wanda get lost in the spiral the darkhold has been leading her. she doesn’t understand why you care.

w/c: 3.963 k

a/n: huge huge thanks to my mutuals and friends who gave this a read <3 it was sitting in my drafts for months, it was time to it let out. wanda can save us all.

notes: smut and intimacyyy, angst

After chopping logs for the fire you walked back to the cabin, holding them in one arm. As soon as you walked past the threshold, the home felt more silent than when you’ve first left it and heavy with an inexplicable murky energy. Maybe it was just your senses reacting to it or you were just overly dramatic, but when you left Wanda after lunch to take care of your gardens and small farm animals, she must have taken the opportunity to go down the basement and read her literally, damned book.

Ever since her visit at the temple your life had a strange turn of events. Your griefs and losses brought you closer. You exchanged your own knowledge of the world, of your powers. Everyone saw and took notice of your relationship with her. You couldn’t really explain why you felt close to her. It was just this need of wanting to protect someone, of maintaining that they are a good person despite a couple of midsjudgements. And you swore that you would retrace your every step to the decision you have made to stay with her.

What you would never allow to happen, however, is for her to get led down the path the Darkhold had been leading her. It was frightening. To see how it called to her, the words plaguing her mind as it did with her fingers. And though she has told you time and time that she ‘has it under control’ you are not sure if she was or is being truthful with herself. She’d stay in that place for long periods of hours, without any water or food. The more you tried to read into it the more it was confusing and rightfully so, worrying.

She insisted you to not go down the basement at these times, saying it’s none of your concern and that you might get hurt. You were stubborn enough to ignore her qualms because deep down, she never could hurt you. And even if her powers were to lose control your abilities are able to block them.

As you walked down the stairs, her powers entrapped you, red threads of energy flowed through the door. When you opened it, it was a beautiful disaster, her back turned to you as she floated in the air and sat cross-legged, murmuring chants, like she was in a meditative state.

While you were caught between whether you should interrupt or not, her voice sharply called your name and like a Pavlovian response, you listened.

“You know it is rude to not knock.” Her voice husks out, her accent flowing between the syllables.

It distracted you, for just a bit.

“I uh…I just thought if you needed anything?”

Like maybe some fresh air and light, for one.

“I don’t, you can leave. I won’t be here for too long, anyway.” She dismissed you as if you were annoying her, implicitly asking you to leave her alone. And for a minute you do.

But you didn’t listen as you sat on the nearest armchair. You felt the hairs on your arms rising, feeling as though something is probing around you. She sighs and floats back down, stretching her body and you try not to let it get to you, how elegant she looks.

“It seems as though you have a hard time listening.”

“I’m just worried, Wanda. If it were anything else I would leave you at it but this is…I’m just concerned.” You stammered, figuring out how to approach the situation without it ending in an argument.

Apparently she did not take it that way with the manner in which she scoffed and climbed up the stairs with the book following her. Maybe you were overstepping. Did it stop you from blasting a thread of energy to try to pull the book towards you, only to be met with a blast of red energy from it? No.

“Do you have some kind of death wish?” She rushed to your side as you tried to catch the air that had been knocked out of you. The feeling of her hands on you, checking where you might’ve been hurt sent you into a haze that was not because of the impact.

“If it means protecting and understanding you, I do. I want to know what’s going on,” you tried to carefully choose your words, still feeling dizzy “You lock yourself in that room, I barely get to see you and when I do you’re too…you’re…”

“Too what? Preoccupied and busy with getting back my family? I know it’s not on your priorities anymore but it is on mine. And just because I’m letting you stay here does not mean you have a free pass at getting curious.” With that she stands up, seething, her irises turning red. Her words get crueler, harsher, her voice mixing with something bizarre, strange.

“That has nothing to do with— it’s not the point.” The subject had now changed and turned personal, your voice wavering as you stood up. You had no idea she would use your own vulnerabilities against you. The rational response would be to ignore her and go your own separate ways but this felt like a hot knife was plunged into your heart.

“I think it has everything to do with it. You’ve lost your family and you’re scrambling to save everyone and you’re projecting yourself onto others. I don’t need your help and if that’s something you can’t live with then I’ll be glad to send you back to that temple.”

It didn’t matter who was right at this point. You weren’t having it anymore, following her to the hallway. It took everything in her to hold back her temper.

“I know you don’t need saving, I’m not treating you or anyone like some damsel in distress. I want to know what is happening to you, Strange says–”

“Alright. Fine. Let’s say I did entertain your idea of helping me. So what, then? What would you do? Offer me promises? It does not work that way. ” She paused and turned around, nearly making you fall on your back.

You felt tears well into your eyes but you held yourself back, willing yourself to stay calm but failing to do so with her eyes on yours, brows furrowed in either frustration, anger or sadness. You couldn’t exactly tell. “I just thought you’ve already lost so much that you don’t deserve to have to go through that pain anymore.”

She’s fighting herself back from tracing your tears, fighting herself back from letting her own fall. It’s too much of her. Too much to think of.

“I am not a replacement for what you’ve lost.”

“What?”

You don’t say anything for a while and Wanda knew she took it too far, at least this time.

“I’m not what you once lost. You can’t have…have what you’re looking for with me. Not every person you meet is going to end up in some freak accident.”

“I’m not looking for anything,” you desperately sighed, everything in you telling you to just drop it but you were just as stubborn as the person standing in front of you. “You can’t just use that against me. You can’t use their deaths against me.”

“Really? Then why do you always try to save everyone and everything when there is nothing to do.” She cries out, a grave voice intertwining with hers, as if it’s trying to take over.

“I can’t give up on you.” Even as you were hurt, you didn’t leave. You carefully took a step closer to her, her eyes now wild, her fingers at her side in fists as if she’s afraid she might blast her powers at you. Your hands slowly reached for hers, giving her time to step away if she wanted.

Almost immediately her hands hold yours. You traced her tinted knuckles, your heart sinking at the sight of them. Then, your eyes meet hers. Tears were running down her face and you wiped them away.

“You’re not going to be alone again. I promise.”

The dark voice in her head is trying to pull her back but your gaze, your touch, was silencing it. She leaned towards you, holding you close as much as she could. Her thumbs moved at your face to wipe away your tears in return.

She couldn’t deflect anymore. She knew you were being truthful. What she feared was what might happen if, when she will lose control all over again and you’ll see her true nature.

She had already lost so much. Losing you would be like losing herself.

You were too caught up to realise what you were doing, your touches not retracting. It’s like you were gravitating towards the other, attracted and magnified. Her gaze was on yours, dropping lower to your lips. You were doing the same, asking a silent question. As her nose nudges against yours you close your eyes, able to feel the warmth radiating from her.

Your lips temptingly grazed against hers, each touch featherlight. You drew in and back as your hands laced around her waist and hers reached for the back of your neck, following your every move. With one last look you leaned into each other, pressing your mouths together in a gentle embrace. Surprisingly, your first kiss with her is not rough like the words that had been exchanged. It’s sweet, soft and so tender you feel you are about to melt into her and you don’t want this to end. It was quickly becoming addicting.

When you pulled back for air there was a different look in her eyes, and you’re sure yours were the same. Her thumb traced your lips before you captured her lips with yours again. You built a rhythm, gently sliding your tongue alongside hers before trapping her bottom lip between your teeth, swallowing her gasps.

She breathed your name against your lips, your body going weak at how desperate she calls out for you. Even though you wanted to focus on her sounds you couldn’t, her lips were moving to press kisses against the column of your throat, completely overwhelming you with pleasure. Your hands tangled themselves in her hair, lightly pulling her back, a whimper escaping her lips. When her piercing eyes looked into yours as if they wanted to undress you right then and there, you feel that you could blindly give her anything she asks of you.

She moved away and before you asked if she wanted to stop with a wave of her hand you found yourself in a room. Yours.

“Show off.” You playfully chuckled, laughing when she rolled her eyes.

“You can’t stay quiet for just a minute?”

“Why don’t you shut me up then?”

At her raised eyebrow you stop talking, your breath catching when she pushed you backwards until your knees hit the back of the bed. When she straddles your lap you lose any capacity to speak.

She doesn’t know what to make of it. What might happen after. This was crossing the line.

But your scent, your sighs, your touch, overpowers her. You were in the same state as you stared at her, million questions running through your mind. They’re interrupted when her hands slid under your shirt, roaming across your chest. She kissed you again, eagerly, desperately and uncoordinated. You gasped into her mouth, earning a chuckle from her but you didn’t let her get too confident, pulling away from her to trail a path of kisses from her chin, to her jaw, to her neck, finding all her sweet spots. It’s only when she breathes your name that you look at her again, reality finally settling in, knocking you down.

Minutes ago you were arguing, now you were seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes. You pull back with clumsy apologies but she didn’t let you utter another word, her mouth pressing against yours like she has been deprived of you. She only lets you go when you’re in need of air, her fingers tracing your face, your once sad eyes now blown with desire and hunger.

“I want this. But only if you do.” She murmurs, melting when your eyes flit between hers and her lips.

You nod but it’s not enough for her. Her fingers grazed your lips as she got lost in your gaze.

“I need to hear you say it.” It’s a demand, stern but affectionate, one that shoots a pang of desire to your core.

“I want you.” You voice what she needs, feeling your face heat at her smile of approval. Even more when she kisses you.

Your hands moved to her sides before inching for her shirt, trembling when you felt how warm her skin was. You skimmed higher as your teeth sweetly nips her jaw, your pleasure growing as her sighs get heavier.

“I want to make you feel good. Is that alright?” You asked, your hands stopping short at the button of her pants, waiting for her permission.

The level of attention and devotion made a warmth bloom in her chest. It could be the heat of the moment to get what you feel for the other out of your systems, but she’s too far gone to give it any further thought.

“Please.”

As much as you want to tease how needy she is, you knew that wasting time would deprive her and you of what you want.

She shifts her position and pulls you down with her. You’re then rushing to undress, reaching for your shirts, laughing at your clumsiness or stopping to kiss wherever you can, forgetting to strip off your clothes. Seeing how impatient she was you unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down, your lips following their path. Your hands ran across her inner thighs, your brain trying to remember every single detail of this moment, you don’t care if it’ll only happen once, you don’t want to forget this.

You softly bit her neck, smiling at her whines. “What is it?”

“Just touch me already.” She grunts, embarrassed at her desperation, her hips bucking up into yours.

And yet you still wouldn’t listen to her even though your senses were screaming to listen, your fingers still remaining on her thighs, moving towards where she wanted at a torturing pace.

If only she knew you were frozen because your own body felt so many things. How you were thinking of all the ways you could please her, that you couldn’t believe she was beneath you looking so beautiful. At her complaints you were brought back to where you were, your fingers hooking on the hem of her panties, slowly sliding them down.

“I’m sorry, you’re just…so beautiful,” you couldn’t help but whisper your admiration. It was unexpected, making her break your intense gaze but you lift her face towards yours again. “How could I ever deny you?” you relented and cupped her heat, humming in pleasure when you felt her want for you.

Her heart raced wildly at your words. She never imagined it coming out of your mouth but she tries to memorise every pronunciation and tone.

“Please just—just touch me. I need it, need you,” her words were stumbling on each other, not bothering with being aware of how desperate she is anymore. “I won’t say it again.” She corrected and this puts an end to your prolonged slow paced touches, setting you to do what she craved.

Your fingers lightly touch between her folds, gathering her arousal until they meet her bundle of nerves. You slide your index finger, groaning with her as you feel her trap you in. You slowly pumped your digit, waiting for her to adjust before adding another.

“Oh, fuck—” She cried out as you set a steady rhythm, her hand clawing your arm while the other is on your back.

“So wet and pretty for me…” You couldn’t control yourself from holding back your admiration anymore. Not that you’d ever thought about it.

You curl your fingers as your thumb finds her bundle of nerves, circling it, and carrying out her pleasure in the way she wants. She couldn’t stop herself from crying your name, her hips bucking up to meet your touch. One of her hands grasp the sheets while the other holds on to your shoulder.

“You feel good, please don’t stop…”

No one and nothing would be able to make you to, your heart racing at the sight of her face twisted with pleasure. At each rise of her hips to meet your touch you felt a blissful stir in your abdomen, your body going wild with pleasure at seeing her chase her own. You kept every note of the way she twitches, how her breathing stutters when you change your rhythm. Watching her was like art, something only reserved for you.

“You’re doing so good for me.”

At your praises she mutters a mixture of pleas along with your name, her mind, her senses, all focused on you. It was unfair how quick her mind was going blank and yet you happened to be the only thing that was left. Maybe it’s because you were evidently touching her or maybe it was something that ran deeper than that.

As much as you wanted to let her chase her pleasure you wanted to prolong it, not wanting it this soon. Your pace slowed down, the action not going unnoticed by her.

“Please— why did you…” She was breathless, out of words, feeling shameful for the hint of plea in her voice.

It was difficult resisting her but you didn’t let it get to you, retracting your touch from her.

“I said I’d make you feel good didn’t I,” you softly whispered, kissing her collarbones. “I want you to feel more than just that.”

Your reverence did not go unnoticed. If anything it only worsened the feelings she was trying to push down at the very back of her mind. When your gazes met, her hands traced your face. Her smile was so endearing you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her any longer.

You buried your head at the crook of her neck, your hand inching between her legs before allowing her to feel your fingers again, having to fight yourself from holding back your own moans of pleasure.

Her body heated up as she approached her orgasm, closely tipping over the edge, she just needed more. More of you. She pulled you away from your path of kisses on her neck back to her lips. It’s filthy, uncoordinated and clumsy but so addictive. Just as she’s tipping over the edge you pull back again, her hips lifting uselessly in the air. You gently push them back, tracing patterns on her hipbones.

“I swear you’re driving me insane.” She choked out, her mind swirling between confusion and delirious pleasure.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” You took pity on her, tracing soothing circles on her hips.

“Then do it.”

You leave kisses all over her face, to the point she’s wondering if you’re lulling her into a false sense of security. Your lips travelled towards her chest but never lower, your heart racing in anticipation as you built the courage to ask her the question that has been now plaguing your mind.

“Can I…is it alright if I taste you?” The words rush over each other, your face flaming at the sight of her darkened gaze.

“I’d…I’d like that.” It’s getting difficult to push down whatever feelings she has for you when you’re looking at her like that, so much that it's unfair.

Almost as if you have read her mind you kissed the tip of her nose, her lips, her chin, now confidently moving lower towards her chest and at her body. Her hips jolted up with the first careful flick of your tongue against the bundle of nerves. You pressed your hand at her lower abdomen to help stabilise her, the pressure now intertwining every time you circle your tongue around her. Your fingers found her entrance again, slowly sliding themselves into her as you curl them. Her hand held yours on her lower abdomen, holding on to it as the other found guidance at the back of your head as her legs shook around you.

Her heart was racing at your devotion, a thought that never crossed her mind once when you were friends. Not even in her wildest dreams. Not even when you would smile at her, or brush your fingers against hers. Nothing would take you away from her, ever. Especially with the way you’re worshipping her.

You’re sure she’s your new favourite thing to taste. You’re too caught up to even notice that she’s talking to you, her pants bringing your attention back to her face. You wanted to tease her a bit more, just once. But her glassy eyes won you over.

“I’m…I have to…” She begged, her voice broken as she’s having trouble speaking.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Let go for me. Please.” You didn’t separate your mouth from her, your hips grinding against the bed as your groans are freely voiced, unable to control them at each of hisses of pleasure. You didn’t stop at anything, your tongue and fingers working on her, needing to see her fall apart more than anything. Before her, you had no idea your own name would sound so beautiful from someone else’s lips.

She felt so close to the edge of pleasure she’s been craving for. It came like an electroshock, her eyes fluttering close and eyebrows furrowed as curses left her mouth when you finally gave her what she’s been waiting for, your name falling over and over out of her lips.

You guided her over, slowing down your pace and carefully pulling away. Her hair is sprawled across the pillows, chest rising and falling, sweat beading on her forehead. You kissed her cheek, her jaw, waiting for her senses to come back to her. When she opens her eyes to meet yours, you are ready to get her going for you again.

Her pleasure was still coating your fingers and you shamelessly tasted them, her thighs rubbing together at the sight. Without warning she pulled you down for a kiss that felt as intimate as when you undressed her, moaning at the remnants of her pleasure on your lips. It’s soft and like a kiss of a hidden confession.

You smiled down at her when she pulled back for air, humming blissfully as you brushed back her hair.

“Do you need anything?” You barely even whispered, afraid that you’d ruin the calm silence.

“But you didn’t—” She mumbles, still trying to catch her breath.

“Don’t need to. I wanted to take care of you,” you tried joking, but it was the honest truth. The thought of receiving wasn’t even on your mind, blinded by her pleasure that was simultaneously yours. “Which is also me saying whatever you want, I’ll get it.” The way she looked at you was enough to make you crumble, countless images of her running through your mind.

Instead of answering she tiredly kissed you, moving you so that she could comfortably rest on your chest. And strangely enough you had no idea how to handle this part.

Afraid that you would step over the line you kept a respectable distance from her. But when she pulls the covers over you both and buries herself into your protective hold, she is at complete bliss. As eyes closed and tired bodies merged, you didn’t think of what you had to discuss any longer, falling into a peaceful rest.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda marvel #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #the scarlet witch x reader #wlw #wanda maximoff fanfiction #spideywrites

117 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 4 days ago

Text

EVERYONE SHUT UP WE HAVE BOTTOM LOTTIE

FAKE NAMES & HANGOVER CURES

(adult) lottie matthews x fem!reader. 3.3k.

NSFW! you meet at a bar one night after her recent return from switzerland. based on this request with my own little twists. inexperienced and kind of mean sub!lottie agenda <3

The ceiling fan is old and creaky, and the sound of it is what wakes you. It’s been rousing you too early for a few days in a row now, the heat making it a necessity to have it turned on all night but the task proving too much for it, mechanisms aching and groaning in the early morning.

You turn to Lottie’s sleeping form beside you. She looks at home here, more at peace than you remember her last night. That, too, is different already — there was emotional gravity for her last night that hadn’t been there for you and that you never would have expected.

Your first one night stand wasn’t anything to celebrate. It was sex and that was it, and while it was fine, it didn’t alter the course of your life by any means. It didn’t give you any sort of long lasting joy, nor did it really excite you all that much afterwards. It didn’t feel daring like society always said it would, and it was too much of a chore for you to really be interested in that sort of thing again in the long run.

You want this to be different. Not for you but for her.

You stretch your neck as you sit there, sore and stiff as you imagine the limbs of the fan might feel if you let it rest for a night, if a fan could feel pain and massage the ache out of its muscles and remind itself to use that coupon it got for its birthday to the spa.

Lottie shifts beside you.

You look down at her and sigh.

She gave you a fake name when you met her at the bar, but you knew who she was. Her face has been plastered onto every news article, every piece delivering the new hot story about the rich plane crash survivor that just got out of a psych ward overseas. They drink up the opportunity to speculate about cannibalism and murder and the nature of the past eighteen years of the grand life of Charlotte Matthews.

You didn’t ask her about it last night, though, and you won’t ask today. If she needs to be a different person for a day or two, you will let her think she has deceived you.

It’s down to deciding what to do, then. Would breakfast be a nice gesture or would last night be best discarded? Would it be awkward to let it live too long into the morning?

No, breakfast is good. Breakfast will be good.

LAST NIGHT.

“There she is! I’m going to go get her!”

Just like that, you’re alone in the bar again while your friend goes to meet her recent shitty girlfriend at the door. She came late, just as she always does, and like always she’s being met with the whole welcoming committee as everyone in your group rushes over to meet her but you.

You don’t understand the appeal of asshole men or asshole women. You don’t understand the appeal of that woman in particular, who keeps breaking up with and getting back together with one of your closest friends who keeps coming over in the middle of the night to sleep on your couch after their arguments.

You don’t want to go along with the entourage. You want to go to the bar and remind yourself that Nora will need your couch again by this weekend. And you don’t want to say that the surprise appearance has ruined your evening, but to put it simply, you need some space.

The bar is packed tight, though, and it’s nearly too much of an effort to squeeze through to order your drink. You’re not sure the bartender even hears you when you do, and you stand there awkwardly for a little while hoping you don’t look like an idiot until finally he comes back with your drink and moves away just as quickly.

A glance over the crowd tells you that your friends are still with her. You’ll stay here a little longer.

Someone crashes into your side — a freshly made cocktail spills down the front of your clothes.

“Fuck,” a woman curses. She looks over you, someone bumps into her from behind and she’s forced closer until if you moved half an inch forward you’d be pressing against her. “Sorry, this place is a mess and I-”

“No, don’t worry about it,” you say. You try to sound convincing, but the drink is cold seeping through your clothes and the music is too loud and everything just feels wrong. “Fuck…”

“I don’t think it’ll stain,” she tries. “I’ll ask for some napkins…”

“You don’t have to, really. It’s okay.”

She doesn’t listen, just reaches over the bar and snatches some napkins from the bartender’s collection. Then she pulls you out of the crowd, and you let her lead you into the bathroom — single stall, private, away from the noise and the smell of booze taking up the entire place.

“Here,” she hands you some of the napkins, standing in front of you awkwardly when you take them.

You can see her clearly now under the restroom’s fluorescent lights. Her dark hair flows down in waves, and while she’s dressed simply there’s an air of authority in her stance that comes from something you can’t name — maybe it’s because she’s older, maybe it’s because the gold jewelry she wears screams money, maybe it’s something else entirely. But it makes your instant admiration feel almost intrusive.

“Again, I’m sorry for all of this,” she says. “I don’t ‘go out’ a lot.”

“I wish I didn’t ’go out’ as much,” you smile, patting your clothes with some of the napkins. “It loses its glamor after a while.”

“I see that.”

You throw the napkins away, but your clothes are still damp and you don’t really want to go back out into the bar.

“Thank you,” you gesture to yourself, “for helping.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

A small silence comes over the two of you, not awkward but wanting, the air between you craving something more than what’s given.

To fill the silence, you give her your name — and she gives you hers, but something about it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue and it takes her a little too long to consider her name in the first place before introducing herself.

Not only that, but you think you’ve seen her somewhere, you recognize her features somehow. Tonight’s meeting hasn’t been the only one.

It’s the necklace that really tells. It’s a gold chain that bears a heart-shaped charm that she lifts over the neckline of her dress and begins to fidget with: the very necklace you remember seeing in so many photos on the news of a certain survivor of a certain plane crash, a certain Charlotte Matthews.

Something strange passes over her expression as she seems to recognize something in yours — neither of you elaborate, but it seems to become a silent agreement that this is the only introduction you need of one another.

You can’t bring yourself to be startled, though. You have heard the rumors of cannibalism and murder and hunts but it doesn’t take you by surprise like it does the rest of the world. What would people expect from a group of people stranded in a harsh wilderness without food through icy winters? What would they do instead? All roads would lead to the same end.

“Let me buy you a drink,” you propose, “to replace the one you lost.”

Lottie — it’s what you might as well call her in your head, seeing as it’s who she really is — shakes her head in dismissal. “You don’t have to.”

You’re blunt with her. “I want to have a drink with you.”

“Then let me buy you a drink for spilling mine all over you.”

“I have a full glass.”

She has lost and she doesn’t look all too pleased with accepting it. Eventually, though, curiosity must win, that same curiosity that’s drawing you to her. “Alright. Buy me a drink, then.”

You lead her out of the bathroom and take a place at the bar again. It has cleared out a little, the rush of guests having subsided after getting their drinks while you were in the restroom.

“This city has changed,” she muses once she has another drink. She looks around the bar before turning her gaze back to you. “It’s always changing… I’ve been away for a while.”

“How far away?”

“Switzerland,” she says noncommittally. She takes a sip of her drink.

“Switzerland sounds nice.”

“Not where I was.”

You’re quiet for a second. Maybe you’ve pressed too much already. You circle back to her original phrasing. “It must be a big change, then, coming back.”

“It is,” she smiles softly. Her dark eyes run over you. “The people are better, I think.”

You give her a doubtful look, returning her smile. “Maybe your drink is just strong.”

You don’t know if it’s true for hers, but your drink is certainly strong, and it’s not long until your head has gone fuzzy from the alcohol and you’re not as careful about handling what words are coming out of your mouth, and soon enough she’s in the same position. If you both were sober, you might be mortified at the bluntness between you, but you’re not, so you’ve gone from strangers to old lovers in an hour.

You’d like to think she can’t notice the way you’re looking at her, imagining how she would look and feel under you in your bed, how she would taste, how she would sound – but you know she can see right through you. And she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I need to forget about that place,” she tells you as the night draws on and both of you are getting drunker. You don’t remember if she told you what that place was, and you don’t remember the fake name she gave you. “I need to forget about everything.”

“Let’s have another—”

“I need something stronger than a drink,” she says, and in part she looks at you like you’re a little stupid and in part you kind of like it. She keeps looking at you, examining you until she comes to a decision. “You want that, too.”

You do — you really, really do.

–

You look over at her next to you in the taxi, taking in how beautiful she is under the golden glow of the streetlights the car passes under, how she seems to glow alongside them. She’s beautiful in every sense of the word, but it’s more than that — like you want to delve into her thoughts, explore the recesses of her mind and find a home within them. You want to consume her but not to take, to give. You just want her.

You press your thighs together surreptitiously as the taxi pulls into the lot of your apartment building, and for a moment you’re ashamed of the simplicity of your place compared to the air of money Lottie gives off until you remember her telling you she’s staying in a hotel and you consider that maybe being somewhere more lived in might do her well. She was insistent that you go back to your place, not to her hotel. It’s another way to escape, maybe. Another way to live a life that isn’t hers, just for the night.

You barely remember to pay the driver before jumping out of the cab. And as soon as he pulls off into the distance Lottie’s nearly on top of you, kissing you and pulling you against her in a way more shameless than you’d expect from her, a way that screams of escapism that you’re all too willing to indulge.

It lasts through the building, the carelessness, the almost flamboyant desperation that has the two of you nearly fucking in the elevator on the way upstairs, you pressing her back against the slick wall of it and almost falling over when the elevator stops rising and you’re at your floor.

Maybe it’s the booze that makes you feel like you’re spinning, maybe you’re drunk on her — you beg the latter. But she’s tripping over you and laughing at God-knows-what as you lead her inside your apartment, so you aren’t alone in your intoxication.

She pulls you to her as soon as you’re both inside, pushing the door shut and pulling herself back against it and you with her until you’re pinning her there. She kisses you hard, tongue and teeth and drunken urgency, pulling one of your hands up to her chest in invitation.

You part from her lips, kissing down her neck and listening to the breathy sigh she gives, turning into a quiet moan when you slot your thigh between her legs and bring your lips back to hers. You let her pull at your clothes, helping her rid you of them as you back up from the door and feel your way through your apartment to the bedroom.

“Wait, wait,” she stops you just as you cross into the room.

You move away, lowering your hands and meeting her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’ve just never…” she can’t seem to find the words, looking at you as if she expects you to run.

You pause, trying to fill in the blanks — never had sex… with a stranger? With a woman? In general?

“Is that okay with you?” Lottie asks hesitantly.

A smile pulls at your lips, “Of course it’s okay with me. Do you still want this?”

She nods, kissing you again, more gently this time. It still holds the desperation of earlier, but she’s more tethered, both of you are. “I still want this. Just slowly.”

You keep insisting even as she guides you toward the bed, even when she turns you so that she’s now the one with her back to it. “Are you sure? Because we can stop and just—”

“Hey,” she stops you. One of her hands snakes up to your face, softly pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Stop talking, okay? Shut up and fuck me.”

Okay.

You push her down onto the bed, climbing on top of her, kissing her and lowering the thin golden straps of her dress before lowering your mouth to the newly exposed skin. And though it’s difficult, you take things slow — you try to be sensual in the way you run your tongue over her skin, occasionally nipping at the muscles of her shoulders, sliding a hand across her waist and up to her back and sighing thankfully when she arches her back enough for you to undo the zipper of her dress and get rid of the rest of her clothes along with it.

You savor the moan she gifts you when your mouth meets her chest and you run your tongue over one of her nipples. Your other hand comes up to run over the other, and your head is spinning with how desperate you are just to make her cum, to hear her moan again because of you and feel the way she tenses and then relaxes beneath you with every move you make.

You kiss down the valley between her breasts before sliding your tongue back up it, gasping when her hand comes into your hair and pulls just enough to get your attention.

Her voice rings with something almost whining. “I didn’t tell you to be this slow.”

“You’re so demanding,” you murmur. “That’s not very polite considering we’ve just met.”

“But it’s not against your manners to fuck a stranger after a few drinks? Am I really the needy one?”

“It’s not a competition.”

She huffs out a laugh, pushing one of your hands down between her legs and frowning a little when you rest it at her hip instead. “Right, it’s not a competition, but—”

You slide a finger through her folds and she goes silent for a second before rewarding you with a soft whine, her acrylic nails digging into your scalp with one hand and your shoulder with the other.

“It’s not a competition,” you repeat, “but I think I’m winning.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You watch her carefully when you start to circle her clit, trying to read her expression for anything other than the euphoria you find in it, anything that should tell you to stop.

“Please…”

“Please, what?”

“More,” she pleads, “I need more, I need…”

You tease a finger at her entrance, pushing it in all of the way after a second and savoring the sounds she grants you, the way she pulls you down again to kiss her, arching her back into you like it’s torturous how far away she feels even with two of your fingers now inside her.

“You’re doing so well,” you say between kisses, pumping your fingers in and out of her. “So beautiful like this for me.”

She nods, sucking in a sharp breath and screwing her eyes shut as you find the right spot in her to have her seeing stars.

“Do you still want me to shut the fuck up, or…”

You feel her tense around your fingers, you feel her legs shaking and her grip on you has gotten tighter.

“No, no, I need…”

“Cum for me,” you order. Her body responds immediately, your name spilling from her lips as you work her through her orgasm, kissing along her chest again lazily and smiling softly to yourself as you feel her coming down from it.

She lies there for a second, eyes closed and breathing heavily as she recovers. When she meets your eyes, she sighs.

“Was that okay?” You ask.

Lottie bears the smile that has faded from your lips. “More than okay.”

NOW.

Breakfast.

What the fuck do you make her for breakfast?

Before you can decide, she joins you in the kitchen area, clad in an old sweatshirt and shorts she must have scavenged from your dresser.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning.”

A small silence comes between you. There’s nothing hostile in it, but still it’s begging to be filled.

You clear your throat, straighten your posture a little and are, inexcusably, awkward: “Do you like breakfast?”

Lottie smiles, coming over to sit at the kitchen island. “What are you making?”

You pause. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Got any special secret hangover cures?”

“I’m all out,” you shake your head. “I have lots of fruit, though, to start?”

“Fruit it is.”

You grab some cartons of fruit from the fridge, arranging a bit of everything into a bowl for her to pick through while you figure out what else to actually cook.

“We should see each other again,” Lottie says suddenly. She plucks a grape from the bowl and pops it into her mouth. “It doesn’t have to end like it did last night. And it might be best if it’s a more sober occasion.”

“Are you asking me on a real date?”

She considers it. Then she shrugs. “Yes.”

You smile. “Let’s go on a real date, then… You know what?”

“What?”

“Let’s go on a breakfast date.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Now?”

“Do you have any other plans?”

“No.”

“Then you can borrow something better than an old school sweatshirt from me and we can go somewhere with better chefs,” you propose.

Lottie nods. “Okay. But wait, before we go… I wasn’t honest with you. About my name.”

“I know your name. I know who you are,” you take a grape too, “Charlotte.”

“Are you stalking me?”

“You’re all over the news.”

“Oh. And you don’t mind that I lied to you?”

“You have your reasons,” you shrug. “And I think we’re on familiar terms now.”

“Yes,” she nods, “I suppose we are.”

You consider her for a moment, leaning forward against the counter. “Last night over drinks you told me that you have plans for a wellness center out in the woods. What is that going to be like?”

She stands up and reaches out a hand for you. “I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

sorry for not posting as much it has been a crazy month anyway random but I’m obsessing over the handmaids tale so if anyone wants to talk about the handmaids tale with me then send me an ask or something ok

click here for my masterlist!

sexy yellowjackets taglist: @webism @ahauandthesun @chaithetics @szczurkanalowy @marleymarleymarleymarley @aphrodyk3 @ludasgf @pnsteblnme @il0veb0ttomsthem0vie @neighbourhoodspidey @dorotheareid @jackiessnackie @soda-kidz

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #spideyrecs

126 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 4 days ago

Text

conversation i had with a friend recently

10K notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 6 days ago

Note

Top reader... Twin tu as TOUT compris merci... Tu as vraiment un big brain 💞

- Danone

merci à vous 😜 mais en vrai de vrai i find that i have more motivation when i write the things i feel comfortable with and that people like.

en croisant les doigts que i’ll have more top reader asks for wanda

#spideyasks #anons #danone asks #wanda is in our hearts

0 notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 6 days ago

Text

help me

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW

650 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 7 days ago

Text

i’m obsessed

Across the Street (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: You're in need and it seems your neighbor, Wanda, might just be home... not knowing she's been wanting plenty from you too.

Words: 3589

Warnings: pervy neighbor!Wanda, flashing, kitchen sex, allusions to sucking a strap-on (it's mentioned, not done), voyeurism, language, SMUT, bottom!wanda (receiving), top!reader

A/N: It's an AU so like, don't look too much into it.

-X-

The window of Wanda’s bedroom was cracked open just enough to let in the sticky July breeze, the humidity clinging to every gust as it washed over Wanda’s skin. She sat barefoot on the windowsill, legs folded under her, barely hidden by the robe that looked older than her. She was watching you again—trying to pretend she wasn’t—but these days?

She always was.

And it wasn’t innocent. It hadn’t been for months. Even if she tried to convince herself that the brand new binoculars she’d bought three months had been for bird watching. That she hadn’t gotten them specifically so she could gaze into your bedroom when the night was late and the curtains were cracked just enough to see your hand buried between your thighs, head tossed back on the pillow. Wasn’t so she could read your lips as you fucked yourself on that nicely made bed of yours…

Of course not.

You were on your small balcony again, watering the struggling basil plant she’d gifted you when you first moved in across from her. You were wearing nothing but a sports bra and those damn basketball shorts that always rode up in a way that should’ve been illegal for the things it did to her sanity. When you turned, fabric swaying just right, Wanda’s breath hitched. It was barely audible, honestly, but in the dead silence of her room, it might as well have been a thunderclap. Her fingers curled tighter around the chipped ceramic mug that housed tea that had long gone cold.

She had meant to drink it but then she noticed you and well… priorities.

You glanced up once, not at her window but just in the general direction of her house, like you’d felt her gaze even if you couldn’t prove it. She knew you couldn’t see her—she made sure of it—but she still froze, eyes drifting along your features like you were the prettiest painting she’d ever been allowed to witness in person.

She leaned her head against the glass, heart pounding with something akin to shame and desire in equal parts. She hadn’t meant for this to happen—and she wanted to stop, she really did—but she’d never been great at giving up vices. Because every time she considered it — considered throwing out the binoculars, hell maybe even moving out of the neighborhood entirely — she imagined you. Your hands in her hair, her name on your mouth, not as a courtesy but as a moan, and suddenly she’d find herself staring down at your house all over again.

-X-

A few hours later, there was a steady knock at her door. She wasn’t expecting it, startling like she’d been caught. Like you’d heard her thoughts, like you knew the way she fantasized about your nails in her back and your mouth on her cu—

“Hey, Wanda? You home?” you asked, quiet but hopeful, through the door.

Hesitating, Wanda considered not answering before opening it. Curious but wary.

“Uh, hey, weird question… do you maybe have cornstarch? I’ve been trying to thicken a sauce for like, twenty solid minutes and I’m out of starch and I really don’t want to have to go to the store if I don’t have to?” you grinned at her sheepishly, lip snagged between your bottom lip.

Your neighbor was gorgeous, always had been, and you were desperately trying not to stare at the way her old but silky robe clung to her body. It was evident she wasn’t wearing a damn thing beneath it, her nipples straining against the fabric but you were a respectful woman. You wouldn’t gawk…

Hopefully.

Blinking at you slowly, Wanda tilted her head as your words finally cut through the haze her daydreams often left behind. Her eyes wandered along your torso, the way you’d tossed on a tank top—tragically—before walking across the street to her abode.

She cleared her throat, eyes lingering at your mouth. “Mm,” she hummed, “I might. I haven’t cooked much lately.”

Stepping back from the door, she let it swing wider but not fully. Just enough for you to slip in, your body forced to brush against hers if you came through. “You can check the pantry. I think it’s behind the vodka,” she added dryly with a faint smirk. “You’ll have to check.”

You slipped inside with a grateful grin, trying desperately to ignore the way your arm brushed a straining nipple as you passed. “Oh thank God, you’re a lifesaver. Because if I had to go ask Ms. Harkness for something again, I’m pretty sure she’d have spent the next two hours discussing preparedness with me… again. Asked that woman for an egg one goddamn time and it turned into a dissertation.”

Wanda let out a soft laugh.

“She gave me a pamphlet once when I asked her how to care for a fern,” she murmured as she followed you, the door easing shut behind her with a muted click. “Typed. Double-sided. Glossy paper. The works.”

The inside of her home smelled faintly like sandalwood and old books, the air a little cooler than yours thanks to a vintage ceiling fan that clicked softly overhead. The kitchen was neat, but lived-in. There were mugs in the sink and a book splayed open on the counter—Russian, from the looks of it.

Walking over to her pantry, you bent down as you perused the shelves looking for something—anything—to save this fucking sauce of yours. She was leaning against the doorframe, robe gapping slightly as it exposed the barest hint of her bareness beneath.

“I always thought you liked her,” Wanda said after a moment, voice quieter now. “You smile at her the way most people reserve for friends. Or... for women they might sleep with.”

“Who, Agatha? No, I mean, we’re friendly enough but I’m not trying to sleep with her,” you replied absently, fingers combing through her shelves until your fingers made contact with something that might work.

"I see," she murmured.

Her gaze roamed lazily down your back, along the slope of your shoulders. The way your muscles shifted under that tank top like they had no idea they were being watched. Or maybe you did know and were just teasing her. She couldn’t be sure.

“Strange,” she added after a beat. “I could’ve sworn you had a type.”

You found the corn starch. Or something like it—unlabeled, half-used, tucked beside a vodka bottle and a box of stale granola bars. She shifted closer as you began to rise, her hand trailing slowly along the counter’s edge, her nails faint against the wood.

"Would you have slept with me if I were more like her?" she asked suddenly, voice low and unsteady—not sad, but there was something in her tone that made your chest ache. "Polished. Precise. Prepared."

You froze, breath catching in your chest before you turned to face her fully. “I… um… hold on, sleeping with you was an option?” you squeaked, eyes wide as you stared at the bare skin slowly coming into view beneath her blood red robe. Every step left it open a little more, pale flesh flushing under your gaze.

Wanda’s lips curled into a lazy, wickedly pleased little smirk. The kind that made your skin prickle in places that weren’t polite to mention. Lashes lowering, her eyes darkened as she stepped closer, her fingers ghosting along the center of her robe. “It’s always been an option,” she purred, “You just never knocked.”

She stopped barely a foot from you, her gaze dragging over your face, eyes lingering on the way your lip caught between your teeth.

“And I’ve been so patient…”

Then, with no further warning, Wanda loosened the belt at her waist. The robe slid open, falling back over her shoulders and pooling at her feet as she opened herself fully to your hungry eyes in the warm kitchen light.

Her voice was calm. Almost amused. "Still need that cornstarch, or...?"

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, staring at her like she was heaven and hell wrapped into one delightful package.

Wanda didn’t flinch. She stood there, shameless and still, like a painting that dared you to look away. Her bare skin caught the light, curves cast in soft amber, her nipples drawn tight from the air or the moment—maybe both. Probably both, honestly. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, tousled and wild, framing her chest like something sacred and obscene all at once.

Her eyes never left yours.

"Mm," she hummed, head tilting. "That’s not a no, detka.”

She took a step closer. She was warm where she pressed against you—warm and magnetic in that way that made your knees want to forget their purpose.

"You’ve been teasing me for months," Wanda whispered, voice dropping into something sultry and low. “All those little outfits. Bending over your balcony. Laughing like you didn’t feel me watching.”

Her hand lifted, fingertips ghosting over your wrist.

“Are you really surprised that I wanted to taste what you’ve been offering?” she whispered, mouth mere inches from yours.

“…I thought I’d caught you one time, but I wasn’t sure,” you admitted breathlessly, setting the box aside like it was contraband as your hand lifted to ghost along her collarbones. “Thought I saw your fingers buried in your panties… staring into my window…”

Her eyes fluttered shut for just a moment as your fingers brushed over her collarbones, and when they opened again, they were blazing with hunger. “You did,” she whispered. “I wanted to see how far I could push it. How close I could get before you noticed. Before you’d come for me.”

Her hand reached up, fingers threading gently—possessively—into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so she could look at you properly. Her other hand ghosted down your side, not quite touching, just hovering over the curve of your waist, warmth soaking into the cut of your hipbone.

“I thought about you, just like that,” she breathed, mouth brushing so close to yours it was barely space. “Wondering if your fingers would feel better than mine.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, hungry and unafraid.

“Want to find out?”

A guttural sound escaped your throat as you bent down and gripped her thighs, lifting her onto the kitchen island before settling between her naked thighs. A gasp hitched in Wanda’s throat, sharp and involuntary, as her bare skin met the cool marble of the island. Her thighs parted around you without hesitation, wrapping loosely around your waist as if her body had been waiting for this exact moment.

She looked wrecked already. Flushed cheeks, chest rising in fast, shallow breaths, lips parted in something between a moan and a plea. One hand braced behind her, the other sliding up your chest, fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull you in or tear it off.

“Fuck, detka…” Her voice cracked, thick with disbelief and arousal all at once. Her nails dragged gently over your collarbone, and her knees pressed firmer to your sides, holding you there, grounding herself against you like she needed the contact to breathe.

“I used to imagine this,” she whispered, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, her voice shaking with every word. “You, between my legs… fucking me like this…”

You gripped her chin, bringing her face to yours as your mouth met hers in a brutal, needy kiss while your hand glided along a breast before palming it gently, feeling the way her nipple stiffened even more beneath your palm.

Wanda moaned into your mouth—raw and desperate, the sound vibrating against your lips and along your tongue. Her hand shot to your neck, fingers digging in like she was anchoring herself to you, grounding herself in the feel of your mouth devouring hers. She kissed back hard, lips pliant but unyielding, tongue sliding over yours with a practiced hunger that betrayed just how long she’d fantasized about this. She was burning beneath your touch, breath catching every time your fingers grazed the soft swell of her.

Her thighs tightened around your waist, dragging you closer, grinding her heat against your stomach shamelessly now as your tank top rode up, slick and wanting and soaked through with months of pent-up obsession.

“Fuck, Wanda, I can feel you dripping on my stomach,” you rasped in her ear, mouth trailing hot, desperate kisses down her throat.

Wanda whimpered, head falling back as your lips scorched a trail down her neck, each kiss igniting fresh tremors that rolled down her spine. Her nails dug into your shoulders, clinging like she might lose gravity entirely if she let go.

“God, detka—” she choked out, voice cracked and shaking, “—you make me so fucking wet just by looking at me. I—”

Her words dissolved into a moan as your mouth found that perfect spot just beneath her jaw, and her hips jerked against you instinctively, grinding into the plane of your stomach like her body couldn’t help it. You could feel her, slick and hot and desperate where she was spread open for you, all modesty gone, nothing left but raw need.

Her legs tightened again, trembling, breath hitching with every pass of your tongue against her neck.

“I’ve touched myself to the thought of this,” she confessed, voice trembling with the weight of it, the confession pouring out like something sacred and sinful. “So many fucking times—right there, at the window, watching you move, dreaming about what your mouth would feel like—fuck, please—”

She gasped again as your hand slid lower, lower, every nerve in her body arching into your touch like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

Your hand dropped to her cunt, fingers spreading her lips open as you pulled back just enough to study the slick, glistening sheen between her thighs.

Wanda’s entire body jolted at your touch—hips twitching helplessly as you exposed the flushed, dripping heat between her thighs. The cool air hit her folds and she whimpered, unabashed, cheeks flushing darker even as her legs fell wider, offering herself up completely.

“Such a messy girl,” you cooed mockingly, tongue dragging along your lip at the angry red of her clit.

Her breath stuttered, lips parted around a broken sound that was somewhere between a moan and a plea.

“Oh, fuck—” she gasped, voice hoarse, “I can’t— I’m gonna come if you keep talking like that,” she admitted, voice pitched high and desperate now. “You don’t even have to touch me and I’d come—”

“Look how swollen it is,” you murmured, dragging your thumb over her clit teasingly. “So swollen I bet it’s throbbing, isn’t it? Begging for a mouth around it…”

Wanda let out a strangled, broken moan, her head thrown back and eyes fluttering shut like she couldn’t bear the weight of your words and your touch at the same time. Her hips bucked involuntarily, grinding up into your hand the moment your thumb grazed her clit, that soft, deliberate tease enough to send sparks shooting through her entire body.

“Yes,” she gasped, voice ragged and soaked in need. “It’s—fuck, it’s pounding.”

Her voice dropped lower, guttural and soaked with something so filthy it made your own center ache.

“I’ve dreamed about it. Grinding down on your tongue until I come all over your face—crying for it—so fucking desperate while you hold me there and make me take it.”

She was panting now, clit twitching under your thumb, the swollen nub aching for pressure, for more—slick gushing with every shallow thrust of her hips, her thighs trembling from how close she already was.

“Fuck, please touch me,” she begged.

You smirked, crouching down just enough until your mouth was level with her. “Tell me what else you’ve dreamed about,” you commanded, leaning in and licking a stripe through her heat.

Wanda shuddered, her entire body jolting as her thighs clamped around your shoulders. Her fingers threaded into your hair, tightening, anchoring herself to the sight of you between her legs, devouring her like you owned her.

“Fuck,” she gasped, voice cracking. “I’m gonna make such a fucking mess—soak your face—God, detka, don’t stop—”

Your tongue flicked her clit and she nearly screamed, hips jerking forward, back arching.

“I’ve dreamed—fuck—about your mouth there,” she choked out. “About waking up with your fingers already inside me, slow and deep, while you kiss the back of my neck and tell me how much you missed this pussy.”

You licked again, firmer and filthier—and she damn near sobbed.

“I’ve dreamed about you pulling my hair while I’m on my knees… about you calling me your slut while you fuck my throat raw w-with that strap of y-yours—oh fuck, your tongue—”

She was writhing now, breathless, on the verge of breaking, cunt pulsing around nothing and clit throbbing against every flick and suck of your mouth.

“You want my strap buried in that pretty mouth of yours?” you rasped before wrapping your lips around her clit, sucking hungrily—teasingly—before pulling back again. “I bet you’ve seen me wearing it around my house, haven’t you? That red dildo on my hips… bet your mouth would look so pretty stretched around it. Bet you’d love choking on it while I call you my filthy little thing…” before your tongue was buried deep inside her.

Wanda cried out, the sound raw and filthy, echoing off the kitchen walls like a confession torn from her throat. Her thighs clamped around your head with almost bruising desperation, her nails digging into the island’s edge behind her as her whole body convulsed with the force of your tongue plunging into her, wet and deep and so goddamn relentless.

She was drenched, every clench of her cunt coating your tongue, your chin, every breath soaked in the scent and taste of her.

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” she babbled, voice high and trembling, head thrown back as her hair stuck to her damp skin. “I’ve seen it—seen you with that strap—saw you through the fucking window with it once and came on my fingers just imagining you down my throat—”

Her body jerked violently as you sucked again, lips closing around her clit just long enough to send her spiraling. Her voice shattered into broken moans, hips grinding against your face now with pure instinct, slick gushing over your tongue.

She was shaking, hands in your hair, pulling, holding, like she wanted to fuse you to her body, like she needed your mouth locked between her thighs until she came so hard she forgot her own name.

Wanda screamed, a sharp, feral sound torn from somewhere deep in her chest as your fingers slammed inside her, three at once, stretching her open with no warning and no mercy. Her cunt clenched around them instantly, greedily, like her body had been starving for this and you’d finally, finally given it what it needed.

“FUCK—detka—!”

She was thrashing now, hips rocking helplessly against your mouth, head thrown back as sweat slicked her flushed skin. Her pussy pulsed around your fingers with every hard thrust, your knuckles slamming against her with each pump.

Your mouth—God, your mouth—was locked onto her clit, lips sucking and tongue flicking in rhythm with every brutal stroke of your fingers. The combination was lethal.

Wanda was gone.

A mess of curses in a language you didn’t speak but desperately wanted to learn and sobs that sounded like prayers, her voice broke as she writhed under you, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it.

“You’re gonna make me fucking cum—!” she wailed, thighs trembling, every muscle tensing under you like a bow drawn too tight.

“I—” her voice shattered again, high and desperate, “I’m gonna cum so fucking hard—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”

Her body locked around you, a full-body quake of release tearing through her as she screamed, clit throbbing wildly under your tongue, cunt clenching around your fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed over her again and again. She gushed around you—loud and messy and so fucking pretty you wanted to cry as she soaked your hand, your mouth, the edge of the counter, everything.

She collapsed back with a broken moan, chest heaving, hair plastered to her flushed face.

“…I didn’t really need cornstarch,” you finally admitted with a sheepish grin. “I just wanted a reason to talk to you.”

Wanda let out a hoarse, breathless laugh, her chest still rising in deep, uneven pulls as she looked down at you, her body trembling in the aftermath. She was stunning like this, her thighs splayed wide and glistening, cunt still twitching around your fingers buried deep inside her.

“God, detka,” she rasped, lips curved into a half-smile that was equal parts awe and disbelief. “You could’ve just said hi like a normal fucking person.”

But her voice was thick with affection, hand sliding to your cheek, thumb brushing your jawline, her body still melting from the inside out.

“Says the woman who’s been spying on me,” you muttered with a smirk.

She dragged her fingers slowly through your hair, then gripped it lightly, pulling your face up toward hers with quiet insistence. “Next time,” she murmured against your lips, voice low and spent, “just bring your strap.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #spideyrecs

848 notes · View notes

neighbourhoodspidey · 7 days ago

Note

you said bottom Wanda and I’m ALLLLL ears😋…but I present….bottom scarlet witch ? bottom scarlet witch who is mean to everyone but just melts when reader gets ahold of her

minors and ageless blogs dni.

a/n: i went overboard but dear anon, i hear you and i give you bottom scarlet witch who lives in our hearts. i’m sorry this took a while. life and current events are all ganging up against me. but, top reader rights will always prevail.

notes: some smut mentions, a little bit of angst and fluff.

i’m going to start off with something really cliché. everyone knows her as the scarlet witch but you only know her as wanda maximoff, a fierceful protector and lover. when she loves someone it is intense. even if you’re capable of handling yourself she’s always right there for you. however if you are harmed and she finds the culprit you are met with another version of her. the one that is ready to flip the earth around for you.

which as we all know, she already did, for her twins.

she’s powerful. and the more her powers grow, the more she is not afraid of using them when it comes to you. you’re the only thing left in her life that holds her afloat and she won’t lose you, ever. so do expect a kind of apprehension when she meets your close friends. of course that was before she turned the temple upside down, whoops. bonus points if you’re a sorcerer at the temple. (I will develop this into a fic. can you imagine the dynamics? the drama?) but on a serious note everyone is questioning how can you be with her even after everything she’s done. still, you maintain that she’s good hearted and gentle.

this comes with no surprise but you do need a lot to convince people…because even if she’s an absolute adorable mess with you, others don’t get to have that same privilege. she’s like a stone wall. it’s not like she’s outright rude, but she does need to work on her people skills.

like, that one time you travelled to another universe and you stopped at a place for the evening as a fun date to do what normal people usually do, since all you have ever known was being a student at the kamar taj. you were at a restaurant and this poor waiter looked at you for a minute too long and was being more than friendly. what other option did she had but to kiss you in front of everyone and wipe her lipstick off your lips? (yeah i’m going feral for jealous wanda)

now if we think about her being mean, i think she wouldn’t have a filter whenever she talks to people who know you on a close level. and that was even before you got to be together. she’s all “it’s funny you talk about them all the time but i never hear about you” or some snarky comment. even more so when she talks about them to you and you’re so confused because you wouldn’t think twice of being with them, not ever.

yeah she’s mean, her powers are uncontrollable, she made questionable decisions but at the end of the day you’re the only person that brings her back to reality. and no one will ever understand you. at some point she also asked herself how could you stay with her even after what she’s done.

once, you saw her with blood all over her and you were worried, frantically asking her where she was. you bathed her in silence. you weren’t in your usual joking and sweet mood and her mind was spiraling, the darkhold filling it with lies and unrealistic visions of you leaving her. that’s when you noticed her inner turmoil and you couldn’t be mad at her any longer. you kissed her shoulders, reassuring her that you would never leave. that she means the world to you and you just want her to be safe. that’s when she looked at you with tears in her eyes for the first time, your own beginning to well. ever since that day she was a bit more careful, not wanting to see that look in your face again. poor baby felt too guilty afterwards

when you’re apart for too long she grows worried. she can’t exactly be blamed for that. but when you’re back you reassure her with kisses and she never leaves your side (it’s not like she was threatening to burn down the universe if you’re not back safely).

that being said, you still have to be wary of the book she’s holding. yes, her “mean” persona is entirely her. going on wild chases isn’t. sometimes you would go to strange asking for help. of course she didn’t like it and avoided you for half a day, thinking that this time you really are going to leave her. it takes a lot of work convincing her to not fall into the darkhold’s lies. but you don’t give up on her.

she has nightmares, flashbacks of her family, of her brother, of vision and her twins. you always make sure to hold her close and she holds on to you with a deathly grip. and speaking of, she likes to get to be near you when she’s sleeping. it reassures her that you’re still here with her. and you’re left wondering how is this the same person that nearly went on a rampage with her powers? the same person who holds your hands and falls asleep on your chest was the same one who is a threat to the universe? yeah right.

i know she gives off total dominant vibes but that shouldn’t be confused with someone who is stone cold. so in my opinion she’s a total softie. i totally see her hugging you whenever she needs grounding. you could be cooking, cleaning or practising spells and she’d remove you with a silent question. just her being in your arms is enough to make her feel safe and whole again.

she likes to be taken care of and be able to empty her mind, just for a while. and you’re always there for her. whether that means you being between her legs or using your fingers or using your magic. that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t order you around, but she trusts you with her pleasure. she has days where she’ll be a bit more demanding but she lets you do all the work (powerbottom wanda save me please save me)

there’s always a balance between soft, slow paced and passionate intimate moments. it depends if she’s reallyyy jealous, if you got into an argument or if she finds you too irresistible to even come up with an answer.

there are just some things you do that affect her. your smile, your words. this is very cliché but just you in general. so when she needs you it is carnal. and you’re glad to do anything she asks of without expecting or wanting anything in return. you’re just here to be at her service.

she definitely begs. you’d have to coax it out of her but when she does it’s like a spell. you would always tease her for it but she swears it never happened, then she goes on her “the scarlet witch never begs” monologue and you’d have to shut her up with a kiss.

she’s just so weak for you. and as much as she loves it, it is a problem. the scarlet witch had no weaknesses but you’re hers. and she has a feeling that you know it.

you don’t mind indulging her at all, and you’re rewarded with the sighs of your name on her lips, her marks on your skin and her senses overwhelming yours.

this might be developed into a fic because the community needs more bottom wanda i cannot stress this enough.

#wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximommy #bottom!wanda maximoff #kind of a power bottom of you squint #wlw #finally i’m free #bottom wanda agenda #spideywrites

50 notes · View notes